


Misery and Happiness

by ElectricRituals



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Soft Boys, they deserve to be happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:27:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26401132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElectricRituals/pseuds/ElectricRituals
Summary: Word of an injured, possibly dead witcher has reached Jaskier in his travels and as much as he would like to walk away, he knows he can't.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 73
Kudos: 402





	1. You Call to Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired /heavily/ by The Rockrose and the Thistle by The Amazing Devil.

Jaskier frowned heavily into his ale while listening to the three men behind him gossip.

For two days, every tavern he entered was subject to strange mutterings about a witcher, gone mad and injured, probably dying. The bard was used to hearing gossip about witchers but never before had it seemed so factual. The words whispered seemed to hold a grain of truth to them that had Jaskier worrying.

Jaskier had been trying not to think of witchers in general for the past six months, or at least one particular, angry, emotionally constipated witcher, but the worry was starting to overpower the ache in his heart.

  
“Hey, where did you say that witcher was last seen?”

-

Geralt was moving through the woods that supposedly held a wyvern nest, trying to quiet his mind. Ever since that blasted mountain his mind had been working overtime, making sure he remembered every mistake he had made, every life he had managed to ruin. More painfully, he kept hearing himself, yelling awful, destructive words at the one person that had never judged him, never abandoned him.

The pounding in his temples grows as he thinks of his bard. No, not his bard, the bard. The bard that had spent most of the last two decades by his side, doing everything he could to make Geralt’s life easier. The bard that Geralt used to be able to think of as his own but now, after Geralt had used harsh words to push him away, now he was simply the bard that Geralt wasn’t sure he would be able to live without.

Finding the nest, Geralt makes quick work of the wyverns. He acted on instinct and killed like the monster he was made to be. It wasn’t until after the wyverns were dead, he noticed the sharp stinging and intense throbbing in his side. Looking he could tell his armor had been seriously pierced and his side seemed to be flayed open. A mistake, one that could cost him his life, a witcher’s retirement.

_Jaskier would be so mad that he let himself get hurt._

_No_ , he quickly cut off that thought process. Jaskier was gone, had left when Geralt attacked with the sharp stab of words.

Suddenly overcome with exhaustion, Geralt held his side and stumbled away from the nest. Finding an outcropping of rocks not too far away, he quickly sunk to his knees before downing a bottle of swallow. He laid on his uninjured side and soon was unconscious.

Faces flitted through Geralt’s subconscious, the shadow he remembers of his mother, the pride on Vesemir’s face after he survived the trials, the shock on Pavetta’s face when Geralt claimed the law of surprise, the anger on Yennefer’s face upon learning of his unwanted child, the pain on Jaskier’s face when Geralt accused him of causing every problem destiny had thrown him.

-

The village Jaskier had been pointed to was only a day away from the one in which he had been, so he set out immediately. The chance that the rumors were true, that there was a witcher hurt and in need of help, was too large to be ignored. Even if it weren’t the witcher Jaskier knew so well, he would do everything in his power to help.

The village was small and only had one inn so Jaskier quickly hurried there, hoping the innkeep would have some information. Heading inside the inn Jaskier went to the bar, “Hello, my good sir” he greeted the innkeep enthusiastically, “might there have been a witcher in town, a few days ago perhaps?” he finished with a smile.

The innkeep frowned, “Aye, took a contract for something stealing livestock, lived in the woods. Witcher went in never came out.”

“I’ve heard word the witcher was injured, if he never came out how does anyone know that?” Jaskier questioned, smiling falling.

“Well, the livestock ain’t been attacked since so one of the boys went looking around the woods. Found the witcher, hurt and lying in a cave. The boy tried to help him but the witcher was out of his mind, wouldn’t let the boy near him. Poor Tomas came back a right mess,” explained the innkeep.

“How long ago was this?”

“Four days back.”

“Where is Tomas? I need to talk to him.”

The innkeep pointed to a table in the corner where a tall lanky young man was eating from a bowl. Jaskier nodded his thanks and quickly made his way to where Tomas was seated.

“Hello,” Jaskier started, sitting across from Tomas, “I don’t mean to bother you during your meal I just need to know where you found that witcher.”

“U-uhm, I wouldn’t go looking for the likes of him. Was dangerous, didn’t know what was happening around him. Honestly probably dead now, didn’t look very well,” Tomas startled out, wide eyed.

Jaskier smiled tightly, eyes glinting dangerously, “Tomas, darling, none of that information was what I asked. Where. Is. The. Witcher.”

Jaskier leaned further over the table toward Tomas and the boy leaned away quickly and hurried to tell Jaskier exactly how to get to the rock outcropping where he had found the witcher.

“One last thing, could you describe what he looked like? The witcher?”

“Ahh, well. Big. Yellow eyes like a cat. White hair.”

Jaskier felt a heavy weight settle in his stomach and hurried back to the innkeep, “the witcher’s horse, did he leave it or take it with him?”

The innkeep frowned, “she’s still stabled up here, didn’t want him coming back to me having sold her off. Figured I’d wait a couple weeks,” the man explained.

“Well I’ll be taking her off your hands,” the innkeep immediately started to protest Jaskier’s words before the bard cut him off, “here, for the trouble of keeping her stabled.”

The innkeep looked at the generous pile of coin Jaskier had set on the bar before nodding to the bard.

Jaskier hurried to the stable and breathed a sigh of relief at seeing Roach. He quickly saddled her up and led her out of the stable, “C’mon girl, it’s time to find our witcher.”

-

Jaskier’s heart thunders as he rides along the edge of the woods searching for a rock outcropping said to hold a dying witcher. The wood here was sparse, the trees spaced far apart and the light from the noon sun was filtering through nicely. He should be able to spot Geralt.

Soon enough Jaskier spotted an outcropping ahead that matched Tomas’ description and he urged Roach faster.

And there, under the rocks, was Geralt.

Jaskier jumped off Roach and rushed to Geralt’s side. The witcher was filthy, covered in blood and dust and dirt and Jaskier heard himself let out a sob as he reached for the witcher to check for a pulse. He closed his eyes waiting and finally felt the witchers slow heartbeat, slower than normal, Jaskier thought. And certainly weaker than it should be.

Shaking Geralt gently, Jaskier tried to wake him, but the best he got was a muttered cry that Jaskier couldn’t understand. Jaskier frowned, the witcher, who normally ran on the colder side of body temperatures, was burning up. Taking stock of the witcher’s body Jaskier found a large gash in his side that, while it seemed mostly closed, also seemed incredibly infected.

With a great bit of struggle Jaskier, with Roach’s help, manages to get Geralt up and in her saddle before quickly climbing up behind him.

Geralt rouses some on the ride but his eyes remain unfocused and he doesn’t respond to anything Jaskier says, almost as if he can’t even tell he’s there, pressed up behind him, holding tightly enough to keep him on the horse.

“Geralt please say something,” Jaskier pleads.

Geralt lets out a pained moan and slumps further into Jaskier’s embrace as his eyes close again.


	2. Desperately

Holding Geralt as tightly as possible, Jaskier urges Roach toward the village. Jaskier hears the gasps of the townspeople as he rides up to the inn and ignores them as he dismounts Roach as delicately as he can, trying not to let Geralt topple off.

“You!” Jaskier yells, pointing at a large man standing a few feet from the inn’s entrance, “Come help me get him inside.”

The man approaches hesitantly, looking warily towards Geralt’s limp form. “Oh hurry, would you. He’s unconscious how could he possibly hurt you?” Jaskier says impatiently, reaching to start sliding Geralt from the saddle. With some maneuvering, the two men manage to get Geralt out of the saddle and walk him inside the inn.

“Innkeep,” starts Jaskier as soon as they breach the door, “I need a room, preferably ground floor. Quickly if you don’t mind.” The innkeep, wide eyed, nods hurriedly and ushers the men along a hallway in the back where he unlocks the last door.

Depositing Geralt on one of the beds in the room, Jaskier turns to thank the man that helped carry him to find he has already left. Instead Jaskier turns to the innkeep and accepts the key from him. “Could you call for a bath? I need to clean his wounds quickly.” Jaskier says to the innkeep.

“Right away, I-I’ll have the boys bring it back right away,” the innkeep responds with a slight stutter. Jaskier nods his head and turns back to the witcher. This was not going to be fun.

-

Jaskier starts peeling off Geralt’s armor as the bath water is slowly brought in, wincing in sympathy as he takes stock of the witchers weakened form. It’s obvious that the man hasn’t eaten well in a while, or at all in the last few days. His body temperature is incredibly high, no doubt high enough that a regular human would be dead. Surely he was dehydrated as well, though Jaskier wasn’t sure just how long a witcher could go without water before dying.

Once the bath was filled and Jaskier had barred the door, Jaskier removed the last of Geralt’s clothes and filled a bucket with the warm bath water. He started to wipe off the worst of the caked-on blood and dirt on Geralt’s skin, making sure there were no other hidden wounds. Other than the ugly festering gash on his side he seemed relatively healed.

Jaskier dumped the bucket of dirty water out the window of the room and refilled it before rolling the Witcher on his uninjured side. Taking a deep breath, Jaskier reached for the dagger at his belt. He ran the sharp blade through the flame of the candle at the bedside a few times before sending off a quick prayer that the pain didn’t wake Geralt. Quickly and efficiently, Jaskier cut along the wound and did his best not to gag as it immediately started to drain.

The bard set to cleaning the wound, silently cursing Geralt for getting into trouble. After cleaning the wound out he managed to get Geralt into the bath. As he settled the large man along the wall of the tub Geralt finally stirred, letting out a pained groan. “Geralt?” Jaskier asked, setting his hands on Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt shifted slightly but made no other noise, never opening his eyes.

Jaskier frowned heavily. Surely the fever was due to the infection, and presumably so was everything else, but what if Jaskier was missing something? Jaskier wasn’t sure what exactly happened to witchers facing the effects of toxicity, just that it was dangerous, could even be lethal. But Geralt didn’t look like he did any other time he had taken too many potions.

Once Jaskier was sure Geralt wouldn’t slump into the bathwater and drown, he left Geralt to soak and started looking through Geralt’s belongings. He didn’t have as many potions on him as he usually liked to carry, perhaps ingredients had been hard to come by. Or had Geralt taken too many? Jaskier identified a bottle of White Honey and decided that it wouldn’t hurt. Just in case there were any potions in his system, hopefully this would cancel the effects.

Jaskier hurried back to the tub and coaxed the bottle of White Honey down Geralt’s throat, watching to see if there was any change in the witcher. When he didn’t see any difference, good or bad, he set to washing the last of blood and dirt from Geralt.

Once Jaskier has Geralt settled in bed, dressed in some relatively clean small clothes, Jaskier focuses back on the wound in Geralt’s side. It’s bleeding still, but very slowly thanks to his witcher healing. It’s still a large wound and Jaskier would feel better if Geralt were to take a bottle of Swallow to speed up the healing. Jaskier disinfected the wound and bandaged it up best he could before walking back to Geralt’s saddle bag. The White Honey would have counteracted any other toxicity so it should be perfectly safe to give Geralt another potion. Particularly one that would help him heal.

Hesitantly Jaskier returns to Geralt’s side. Making up his mind, he props Geralt up and pours the bottle of Swallow into his mouth, massaging his throat to help get it down. Jaskier gently lays Geralt back on the bed and closes his eyes. _Please let him be okay._

-

Laying in his bed across the room from Geralt, Jaskier couldn’t sleep. His worry for Geralt and his worry that he would be sent away as soon as Geralt awoke had his mind racing.

Jaskier knew he wasn’t welcome by Geralt’s side any longer and as soon as the witcher was lucid he knew he would have to part ways with him again. The pain at the thought had Jaskier reeling, he never realized that emotional pain could manifest physically. At least, he hadn’t realized before the mountain.

That stupid day, that stupid dragon hunt, that blasted witch. That gods-damned emotionally constipated witcher, so insistent on ruining everything.

Jaskier knew he wasn’t to blame for all Geralt’s problems, was fairly sure that Geralt also knew that. What Jaskier wasn’t sure about was what went on in the witcher’s head. Why Geralt was lashing out. How to help. But Jaskier also knew that he was tired and hurting, the witcher’s words cutting deep, no matter how his logical brain justified the witcher’s actions.

And that’s when he, the White Wolf’s Bard, walked away.

Geralt was hurting and he pushed Jaskier away. And Jaskier had left. He had no regrets for his decision, he couldn’t handle the abuse. Geralt’s problems were his own and Jaskier wouldn’t be blamed for them any longer.

So maybe Geralt wouldn’t want him here when he awoke but Jaskier didn’t particularly care what the witcher wanted. Jaskier would continue to see to his injuries and once Geralt was healed, Jaskier would leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was significantly shorter than I had anticipated but I'm already working on the next. Thank you guys for the comments so far, they keep me motivated!


	3. My Words, My Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: Passive suicidal ideation in this chapter

_Geralt is alive._

The mantra Jaskier had been repeating for the last three days was becoming worn, less comforting. Sure, Geralt is alive, and his wound was healed and his fever had broken, but he was still asleep.

It had been three days, not the longest Jaskier had seen Geralt unconscious in their two decades together, but normally Jaskier had more context to what led to his injuries, normally Jaskier found him conscious and was able to get the important information out of him before he lost consciousness. What was wrong, what Jaskier needed to do to help, and an assurance that he would heal with time.

Now, though, Jaskier had none of that.

Other than forcing water down Geralt’s throat periodically he really had no idea what to do. He didn’t know anyone in the village and wasn’t sure he should trust any healer he might find here. As far as he could tell Geralt seemed okay, still malnourished but no longer on death’s door, he just wasn’t _waking_.

Jaskier let out a long sigh, head in his hands. He desperately wanted Geralt awake but he also was terrified at the idea of Geralt awake. Jaskier wasn’t ready to face the stubborn witcher, the witcher who had cast him aside only six months prior. Jaskier wasn’t ready to leave Geralt’s side again, it had taken everything in him to walk away on that mountain and he wasn’t quite sure he had the strength left to do it again.

Jaskier lets his gaze linger over the witcher for a moment longer before heading to the door, he would be no good to the witcher if he didn’t take care of himself as well, and he hadn’t eaten since the prior day.

-

Jaskier walked back into the room holding a bowl of lukewarm soup and some bread and promptly almost dropped both, noticing Geralt shifting in his bed. The bard quickly set the food down and hurried to the witcher’s side. “Geralt?” He asked in a hushed tone.

Geralt let out a groan that sounded pained and his eyes shot open, darting around the room. “Oh Geralt, thank the gods! How are you-” Jaskier quickly stopped talking as he noticed the witcher did not settle at his words. He was tensing, trying to sit up and Jaskier quickly pushed him back down. Geralt’s hands shot out to grab at Jaskier but Jaskier was quick and Geralt was weak.

“Geralt it’s me, it’s Jaskier, hey, calm down,” Jaskier said, holding Geralt down as he thrashed, trying to escape the hold. Geralt’s eyes were rapidly moving around the room but they were still unfocused, still didn’t seem to be _seeing_ anything.

-

Geralt hadn’t felt so weak in a long time.

He couldn’t remember what had happened or why he felt this way, he certainly had no idea where he was or what was going on. Was he captured? Injured? Dead? He felt hands against him and tried to fight back but he was so _weak_. There was a voice talking to him, but he couldn’t understand the words. The voice was nice, soothing, vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

The voice kept talking, the hands remained a gentle pressure, maybe he wasn’t in immediate danger. Geralt was trying to look around the room, learn something, anything about his situation but he just couldn’t see anything. He relaxed finally, closing his eyes as the gentle hands began to run through his hair.

He begins to remember.

It had been six months since he had made a mess of everything, he had stopped taking care of himself, eating only when absolutely necessary, only bothering to restock potions if he was completely out, hating himself more and more by the day.

The weight of his choices, heavy on his shoulders. Every time he played with destiny it played back and it _won_. His child surprise, his wish, his angry hate-filled words.

He remembers taking the wyvern contract, he remembers getting hurt and laying down and deciding that it was high past time death take him. After all, if he were dead, he couldn’t keep destroying everything he touched.

A sob shook the witcher and he felt the gentle hands stroke his face. He tried to move away from the hands, he didn’t deserve their kindness.

He tried to move as flashes of memories passed through his head, his sorrow as his mother abandoned him, his fear before facing the trials, the never ending pain as they subjected him to more and more and more mutagens, more than any other witcher had ever survived. He remembered the sick feeling in his gut when he realized that Jaskier couldn’t breathe, that his throat was swelling, that it was _all his fault_.

The hands on him were firm as they guided him on his back but Geralt didn’t want the hands on him, the only hands he wanted on him were hands that he had cast off, along with any chance of happiness he had ever had.

The last six months had been _quiet_ , disturbingly so. When Jaskier left he took Geralt’s words with him, he took any music that the world held.

He doesn’t want to suffer any more. Sobbing, Geralt pleads with the hands. They had been so gentle, so kind, surely they would put him out of his misery. He doesn’t want this anymore, to be here, alone, missing the best thing that had ever happened to him. “Please,” he begs, “just let me die””.

-

Jaskier freezes, Geralt had been mumbling and sobbing on and off but Jaskier hadn’t been able to make sense of any of the muttering until then. _Let me die_.

Well, Jaskier certainly wouldn’t be doing that. “Geralt,” Jaskier begins gently, “can you hear me?”

The witcher whimpers and Jaskier continues, “Geralt, why do you want to die?”

“Alone. Too much.”

Jaskier’s brow furrows as he tries to make sense of Geralt’s words. Alone? He’s alone? He doesn’t want to be alone? That’s not particularly like the witcher. And what could be too much? Being alone? Something else? Was he in pain? Had Jaskier missed something, another injury maybe?

“Miss him,” Geralt groans out.

“Miss whom, Geralt?”

“Jaskier, he left. Need to apologize.” Geralt mutters quietly, making Jaskier freeze. The bard most definitely never expected to hear those words. Geralt want to find him? To _apologize_ to him?

Jaskier took a deep steadying breath before responding, “Well, you need to be alive to do that okay? Stay alive for Jaskier. You have to rest and heal, or you’ll never be able to apologize to him.”

Geralt let out a soft grunt, “miss him,” before stilling, seeming to fall back to sleep.

Jaskier stood quickly and moved across the room to the window, tears filling his vision. He had so many questions but the only person that might be able to provide any answers was Geralt, who wasn’t in the best place to be answering questions.

Jaskier looked back to the bed, feeling like he was in over his head. Geralt seemed physically fine, the gash in his side was gone, his pallor was better, he was still far too thin but with him being unconscious there was really nothing to be done about it. The few times Geralt had been awake though, his mind seemed damaged, and Jaskier hadn’t the slightest idea what to do about that.

Making his way across the room to his abandoned food he decided to eat and keep and eye on Geralt for the remainder of the day and if, by the next, there was no change, he would reach out to a healer or mage or sorceress or whoever could help. Finishing his food, the bard decided that getting some more sleep in wasn’t all that bad of an idea before making his way to his bed, drifting off into an uneasy sleep.

-

“Jaskier?”

Jaskier wakes suddenly, noticing first how dark it had gotten outside before he realized what had woken him, “Geralt!” he said, sitting up quickly.

Geralt was sitting up, a confused look on his face, but his eyes were focused and Jaskier wasn’t sure he had ever seen a better sight.

As Jaskier made eye contact with Geralt, he watched the witcher’s eyes harden, face turning stony. _Oh, right._ Jaskier was a burden, a burden Geralt wanted taken off his hands.

_Right_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for the kindness in the comments! This is the first fanfiction I've written in a couple of years and the first I've posted in even longer so I really appreciate it!  
> So far I'm cranking out these chapters pretty fast (a lack of proof-reading helps speed things up) but I'm back to work tomorrow and I have exams next week so things will probably be slowing down after this chapter. I will definitely have a chapter up weekly if I can't get them out any faster than that.


	4. You won't

“I’m glad you’re awake,” Jaskier finally said, voice small and unsure. Geralt continued to stare at the bard, silent and unblinking.

After some of the longest seconds of Jaskier’s life, Geralt finally grunted out a _hmm,_ making Jaskier look away.

“How long?”

Jaskier’s gaze shot back to Geralt as he registered the words, “Five days since I found you. Innkeep said you were gone four days before that. Don’t really know how long you were unconscious though.” Jaskier was trying to keep his words short, clipped, trying not to anger Geralt too quickly, trying not to get sent away.

“Where am I?”

“Same village you took the contract in.”

“What happened?”

Jaskier sighed, of course the one time he is trying not to say too much is the one time Geralt questions him, “I found you under a rock outcropping. You had a nasty infection. Brought you back here. Cleaned it up. Here we are.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why didn’t you leave me to die?” Geralt responded, brows furrowed, staring hard at Jaskier.

Jaskier was taken aback by the question. Why would he leave Geralt to die? Sure, Geralt was a boorish, rude, jerk, but that didn’t mean he deserved to lay in the dirt and die to a festering wound. “I can’t think of a reason I would leave you to die,” Jaskier finally responds.

“I deserve it.”

The bard blinked slowly, no clue what to say to _that_. It had been one thing, hearing Geralt beg for death when he had been out of his mind, and another entirely for the witcher to just _say it_. Just declare, with absolute certainty, that he _deserved_ death.

Plain, simple. _I deserve it_. Death.

“Well,” Jaskier starts, “I can’t say that I agree with you.”

“You should.”

“And when have I ever done anything that you think I _should_?” Jaskier spit out.

Geralt sat in silence, still staring at the bard. Jaskier had no idea what to make of the look on the witcher’s face.

Abruptly standing, Jaskier made his way to the door, “I’ll be right back, stay here. I’ll get something for you to eat. Don’t go anywhere, you’re far too weak and I don’t want to have to find you and carry you back again.”

-

Jaskier inhaled deeply, leaning his weight back on the closed door to their room. Closing his eyes, he let the relief run through him, relief that Geralt was awake.

He tried to ignore the anxiety rising in him.

The look on Geralt’s face sent dread through Jaskier’s body. Jaskier knew that Geralt wouldn’t want him around, knew that the witcher’s sick ramblings couldn’t have been real. Knew that this would _hurt_.

But those ramblings had seemed real. It had certainly seemed like Geralt, in that moment, wanted to _die_. But why would he? Jaskier just didn’t understand. Geralt has always had a fairly passive stance in regard to death, the witcher knew it was inevitable, had made peace with it. But he had never _wanted_ it.

Or, Jaskier supposed, Geralt had never made it known he wanted to die.

No, no that couldn’t be it. There could be no way that Geralt wanted to die. And none of the other delirious ramblings meant anything either. Geralt didn’t want to die, he didn’t want to apologize to Jaskier, and he _certainly_ didn’t miss the bard.

Geralt’s face as he stared at Jaskier had been harsh, unyielding. Cold. Jaskier was a burden, a burden Geralt had thought he had washed his hands of. But, much like the stubborn weed he had named himself after, Jaskier always found a way to come back.

A buttercup, pretty and poisonous. Unwanted.

Breathing deeply Jaskier stifled a sob. Why _did_ he come for Geralt? He hadn’t even known it was Geralt – just an unnamed witcher. Hell, he didn’t even know if the rumors were true until he found Geralt himself. Geralt’s words six months prior had _shattered_ Jaskier and as much as Jaskier wouldn’t hold it against the emotionally stunted witcher, he still shouldn’t be setting himself up for more pain at his hands.

He didn’t owe Geralt anything, but here he was, tying himself up on knots, trying to nurse the ungrateful bastard back to health.

But, Jaskier had done this to himself, ignored the logic of what would happen and dived into the situation headfirst.

Jaskier had known this would hurt.

Maybe he just like to suffer.

-

Returning to the room, food in hand, Jaskier take stock of Geralt’s position. The man had moved his back up against the wall and was leaning against it, eyes closed. He had to be exhausted still.

As Jaskier moved as quietly as he could Geralt finally spoke, eyes remaining shut.

“Roach?”

“She’s fine. Stabled outside.” Jaskier responded as he sat a bowl of broth on the table beside Geralt’s bed.

Geralt nods, opening his eyes and moving to stand. Jaskier darts forward, blocking the witcher’s movements. Giving the witcher a stern look he says, “You’re not going anywhere yet.”

“Jaskier-”

“No,” Jaskier starts, shoving the bowl of broth in the witchers hands, “you shouldn’t be moving. You’ve been unconscious for days; you haven’t eaten in over a week. Don’t you dare undo all my hard work healing you.”

“Hmmm.” Geralt grunts, taking the bowl and leaning back against the wall again.

Geralt slowly starts sipping at the broth, pointedly ignoring Jaskier’s gaze, watching him intensely. Jaskier would be damned before letting the witcher get out of taking care of himself properly.

The bard knows he should be leaving, the witcher would be able to take care of himself. He knows he should leave Geralt in peace, to finish healing. Jaskier knows, he _knows_ , he’s no longer needed, but he just spent the last five days worried sick over whether Geralt would even survive, and now, Jaskier decides, now he needs some answers.

-

The broth was light, filling Geralt’s weak stomach without upsetting it. He appreciated it, appreciated the thought the bard had put into the choice of his first meal.

But why had the bard gone through the effort? Why was the bard here?

Geralt knew he ruined everything on that fucking mountain. Said words he didn’t mean.

He had lashed out at the one person who always seemed to want his company. It just didn’t make sense, though. He couldn’t be wanted, no one had ever wanted him in any capacity. His own mother hadn’t wanted to take care of him, to raise him. To the elder witchers at Kaer Morhen he had been expendable, put through even more mutagens after the initial trials to see how far they could push him until he died.

Jaskier had been the only voluntary company he had ever had. But why? He could think of no good reason the bard would have continued following him. At first, sure, Jaskier benefitted from the stories provided by his _muse_. But it wasn’t long before Jaskier had achieved fame and had no more use for Geralt, and yet he kept following him, kept calling them friends.

Geralt spent the better part of two decades disparaging everything about the bard, his clothes, his choice in bed mates, his singing, his poetry, and then the witcher blamed the bard for every mistake that Geralt had ever made.

And yet, there he was.

Jaskier was there, sitting on the opposite bed, eyes tracking Geralt’s slow movements. The bard had been here, with Geralt, for five days, nursing the mostly dead witcher back to health.

Geralt deserved misery, he deserved pain. Not the kindness the bard showed him time and time again, not loyalty or devotion or anything the bard just kept willingly offering.

And he absolutely didn’t deserve any of those things from Jaskier, the very man Geralt had cast to the side like trash.

Jaskier deserved better than anything Geralt would ever be able to offer, he deserved to leave Geralt behind and lead a happy life, deserved friends who didn’t tear him down at every turn, a friend that treated him like a friend.

Geralt couldn’t give him that, had no clue how.

Geralt knew, deep down, he thought kindly of the bard. He was happy to have the man’s friendship, wanted more, even. Geralt knew that he had loved the bard for a long, long while.

Geralt also knew that wasn’t fair to the bard, he didn’t need the witcher weighing him down.

Jaskier had been right, Geralt was too weak to be moving about right now, let alone travelling, but he would recover soon, and he would leave. It was the only way he could guarantee he couldn’t hurt the bard any further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finishing this chapter felt absolutely impossible, angst is hard to write when you're jumped up on serotonin provided by Joey Batey surrounded by alpacas, but I finished it, finally. Thank you all for your kind words and support, it means a lot <3


	5. Your Fretted Head

It’s time, Jaskier decides, for Geralt to answer his questions. The bard knew that he shouldn’t press, should give Geralt more of a chance to rest and recover, but Jaskier deserved answers and he couldn’t quite trust that Geralt wouldn’t up and leave at the earliest opportunity.

Jaskier stares at Geralt, wondering how to begin his questioning. As much anger and bitterness running through the bard as there is, he still wants to be delicate. He doesn’t know what’s happening in the witchers mind, and if his delusional rambling was anything to go on, Jaskier hadn’t known what was going on in Geralt’s mind for a while.

“How were you wounded?” Jaskier finally questions softly, figuring the hunt itself to be the safest topic of discussion.

“Wyvern,” Geralt grunts, answer short and clipped. Not an unexpected response but it still managed to put Jaskier’s teeth on edge. Was it really that difficult to be forthcoming with your answers?

Rolling his eyes, Jaskier sends a scathing look Geralt’s way, “Yes, that I could manage to deduce myself, thanks. Were there too many? I’ve seen you fight these particular beasties before and rarely walk away with a scratch, let alone that nasty of a gash.”

“Just wasn’t paying attention.”

That response gave Jaskier pause, “Weren’t paying attention? That’s not like you during a hunt.” Geralt had once told Jaskier that witchers retired only when they slowed and got killed. Geralt made it a point to be careful on hunts, limiting distractions, like Jaskier’s ramblings, to limit injuries.

“Hmm.”

Jaskier frowned, grunting was not going to cut it this time, “Well surely you knew you were injured, why didn’t you go straight back to town? See to your wound?”

Geralt let out a short sigh, not wanting to continue with this line of questioning, “Took swallow, thought I’d be fine after a nap.”

“Geralt you would have died had I not found you!” Jaskier let out indignantly, a bit louder than he had intended.

“Hazard of the job.”

Jaskier stands abruptly, starting to pace the floor. “I’ve never seen you like that,” Jaskier starts, “you were delirious, even after the fever broke. Nothing you said made sense. You’re were asking for people. Names I’ve never heard. Me.”

Geralt freezes, he hadn’t realized he’d said anything to the bard until after he woke. What _had_ he said? “I’m tired, Jaskier.” The witcher finally responds, not wanting to confront the various possibilities of what the bard might have heard.

Jaskier continues talking, ignoring Geralt’s soft decree, “You called for your mother, at least I think that’s what you were saying. Begged someone named Vesemir for help. Said you needed to find me, apologize to me. Asked me to let you die.” Jaskier’s eyes are staring intently at Geralt, the bard’s emotions are fraught.

Geralt continues staring at the wall, refusing to look at the bard, not knowing what to say. He had no reason to doubt the bard, to disbelieve him. But he also had no explanation, not for his words, not for his feelings. Jaskier’s pleading made it clear he was trying to help, wanted to help, but Geralt couldn’t accept his help, he didn’t deserve it.

A sob wrenches out of Jaskier, drawing the witchers eyes to him, finally. When the witcher still remains silent, Jaskier presses a hand to his face briefly before walking around the room, grabbing his bag and lute, and heading for the door.

Geralt knows he should let the bard go, it’s for the best this way, but he finds himself talking instead.

“She left,” Geralt mutters softly, barely loud enough for the bard to hear. Jaskier stops, stiffening his shoulders but not turning around.

“She left, and I don’t know why. We were travelling, I remember talking to her, telling jokes, singing. And then she was gone. That’s all I remember of my mother. Did I say too much, make her leave?” Geralt’s voice is raw with emotion, with pain, and when Jaskier turns around he can see the sadness on the witcher’s face.

Jaskier thinks of all the times he had wondered the same thing, wondered if he was talking too much. No, he knew he was talking too much, but he always wondered if it would be the thing that made the witcher leave him. Despite his fears, Jaskier never stopped talking, couldn’t bring himself to. And Geralt never left him.

Geralt continues talking, “If she hadn’t left me, left me to witchers, I wouldn’t be here. Wouldn’t be here to make a mess of everything, to ruin everything. I wouldn’t be a monster that destroys everything I touch.”

Jaskier wants to jump in, to cut Geralt’s words off, to assure the witcher that he wasn’t any of the awful things that he had built up in his head, but the bard clamps his mouth shut. The urge to argue Geralt’s worth is strong, always had been, but Jaskier knew the witcher needed this, needed to say these things, and Jaskier needed to hear them. He needed to understand what was going on in the witcher’s head.

“Vesemir trained me. At Kaer Morhen. He’s the closest thing to a parent I have but he helped make me into this _thing_. This monster with one purpose.” Geralt paused, mouth curling into a grimace, “I can’t even do that right, instead of keeping to myself and killing monsters I keep getting involved with humans. And every time I do, I fuck something up.”

Jaskier stood there, watching Geralt, as the witcher broke down. Six months ago, on a mountain, Jaskier thought he had felt his heart shatter to pieces at the cruel words of his best friend. But here, in an inn in some random village of the continent, watching the strongest man he knew crack in front of him, he felt the shatter of his heart vividly. Before it had been fractured, and it had hurt, but seeing the pain that Geralt was going through was what really did in the poor bard’s heart. Jaskier wants nothing more than to help Geralt, but how?

-

As everything collapsed around him, Geralt couldn’t help but wonder why the bard was still there, staring at him with his piercing eyes.

“Geralt,” the bard begins gently, “our pasts set us on our paths, but they don’t define us.”

Why was the bard being so kind to him? He didn’t deserve it. Hell, he still hadn’t apologized for all the awful things he had said and done to the bard over the years, still hadn’t apologized for the mountain.

Looking into Jaskier’s eyes now, the witcher wasn’t sure he could. He didn’t want to say anything else, was too afraid of what would come out if he kept talking. The bard couldn’t know the real reason he pushed him away, the witcher was too afraid of his own emotions to confront them, let alone tell someone else about them. Particularly the person causing the swirling mess of emotions.

As Geralt continued staring into the bard’s eyes, he watched determination settle across the man’s face. Jaskier stood up straight, head held high, and walked toward Geralt. Slowly the bard knelt in front of the witcher, his gaze steady, the blue of his eyes shining.

“Geralt, it is time for me to talk, and you to listen. You used to be good at it, so let’s give it another try now, yes?” Jaskier said after a few moments, voice steady.

Geralt was certain, in that moment, he would do anything Jaskier asked of him.

The witcher nodded slowly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can Jaskier finally get through to our favorite, broody witcher? I hope so, it's getting exhausting, boys.
> 
> Come visit me on tumblr where I make heart eyes at Joey Batey and quote The Amazing Devil more than is probably healthy. @ElectricRituals
> 
> P.S. I took approximately .7 seconds to glance over this for spelling and grammar so if you guys notice anything glaringly bad, please let me know. This week has been loooong and I didn't have the energy to look over it much.  
> P.P.S A small portion of this chapter was inspired by this tumblr post -https://tmblr.co/Z9492xXw_EsCyq01. I just can't say no to extra angst.


	6. I'll Never Stop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: a brief mention of passive suicidal ideation in a look back at earlier situations in the story
> 
> Once again, I didn't really proof read this because that is not something I have the energy for so if you notice anything weird let me know!

From his position on the floor, Jaskier stared into Geralt’s eyes. The bard wasn’t going to get another chance to do this and he didn’t want to mess anything up. He had spent days worried over the witcher, had listened to his ramblings and pleas and his pained whines and moans and whimpers. Jaskier had done all of that not even knowing exactly where he stands with Geralt.

Geralt had thrown Jaskier to the side on that mountain and as much as Jaskier truly believed the witcher had been hurting and had simply lashed out, there had to be a part of the witcher that thought those things of Jaskier, that _blamed_ Jaskier for the witcher’s misfortunes.

A delirious Geralt had called for Jaskier, stated his need to apologize, said he _missed_ the bard. Jaskier was unsure how much of that Geralt meant and how much was simply guilt weighing on the witcher’s conscience. The bard had known for a long time that the witcher had feelings, strong ones, that he just didn’t seem to understand. That, Jaskier had assumed, was why witchers were said to have no feelings, not because they had none but because they weren’t taught to understand them.

“Two decades ago,” Jaskier started, blue eyes staring into gold, “I was eighteen, on my own for the first time, and I met a witcher at the edge of the world. I then proceeded to spend the next twenty years of my life following that witcher all over the continent, and I have never once regretted the decision I made that day.” The bard took a deep breath, finally breaking eye contact with Geralt.

“You led me straight into danger, I was knocked unconscious, my lute was smashed, and then, when we were freed, I watched you give our captors all of your coin. What kind of man would do such a thing? The elves of Dol Blathanna had just kidnapped and threaten to kill us both and you showed them kindness. In that moment I knew that I wouldn’t be straying from your side if I could help it.”

Geralt looked like he wanted to interrupt but remained silent after a sharp look from Jaskier. “I spent twenty harrowing, dangerous, exciting, wonderful years following you around, Geralt. And then, in an instant, on some stupid mountain we never should have climbed, you ended that.” Jaskier is speaking calmy, but Geralt still flinches from the words. “And yet, I never blamed you. I heard the argument with Yennefer,” Geralt flinches again, “and I know sometimes I talk too much or when I shouldn’t, and I know I don’t always have the tact necessary for the situation at hand. I know myself quite well so, despite the hurt, I never blamed you for your words. I don’t believe you meant for them to come out like that.”

Jaskier sent another sharp look to Geralt as the witcher opened his mouth. “Geralt let me speak,” ordered the bard.

Geralt nodded slowly.

“Six months pass and I’m in a tavern, and then an inn, and then another tavern, and I keep hearing this same rumor, about a witcher. They said he was injured, had gone mad. I tried to ignore it; it should be none of my concern. But I never could help myself, so I took off toward this village and found out everything I could and then I found you.”

-

Geralt is no longer looking at Jaskier, instead staring down at his lap. Jaskier continues, breaking the silence “So I find you, physically and, it seems, mentally worse than I left you on that mountain. Geralt you spent days talking nonsense, crying out for people. Finally, I thought you had awoken, but you asked me to let you die.” Geralt looked up sharply at Jaskier’s words. Death had seemed welcoming more and more the past six months, the witcher never sought death but he certainly wasn’t taking every step he could to avoid it.

“Do you remember, Geralt?” Jaskier questions softly, the witcher shakes his head.

Sighing, Jaskier stands from his position in front of Geralt and settles on the bed beside the witcher. “I asked you why and you said you were alone. That you missed me. That you needed to apologize to me.”

The two fell into and uneasy silence, both holding back words, unsure of how to break the quiet.

Geralt knew he should speak up, should be honest with Jaskier. The bard deserved an apology and then deserved to lead his life without Geralt causing more problems for him. Jaskier had spent twenty years following him around, making his life easier than it had ever been, significantly easier than it had become after Blaviken.

Looking to his side where Jaskier sits, Geralt can see silent sobs shaking the bard’s shoulders and tears falling onto his hands where they were clasped in his lap.

“Did you truly want me gone?” Jaskier asks, his voice breaking at the end of the question.

Geralt honestly can’t think of a time he wanted rid of Jaskier, not after the first few days of travelling with the bard. The boy had quickly grown on Geralt, his lack of fear a wonderful reprieve. “No, Jaskier. I did not want you gone.” Geralt finally responds.

“But you blame me?”

“I know,” Geralt begins, unsure of how to word it properly, “I know you did not cause everything. I did. But you were there for all of it. And it was easy to blame you. Easier than blaming myself.”

Jaskier looked toward Geralt, eyes red and puffy, and nodded. “I assumed it was something like that. But it hurt, Geralt. Your words hurt. I left because I didn’t know if I was strong enough to go through that again. I can’t be blamed for everything.”

Geralt felt shame run through his body at Jaskier’s soft words. The bard was being so kind, so gentle, when Geralt deserved to be screamed at.

-

“Why are you being so… nice?” Geralt asked Jaskier.

Jaskier was always nice, wasn’t he? Well, maybe not _always_ , but always to Geralt, at least.

Cocking his head to the side, Jaskier’s eyebrows furrowed, “There isn’t a reason for me to be anything but nice.”

Jaskier was still contemplating why he wouldn’t be nice when Geralt shouted, “Of course there is! I was nothing but awful for twenty years! Insulting you, belittling you. I’m a monster.” Geralt stood from his position on the bed, retreating into the corner of the room, “Jaskier, you should go, I’m nothing but a monster.”

A _monster_. That was a term Jaskier had spent the last two decades trying to convince the continent, and more importantly Geralt, that did not apply to witchers. Jaskier had met more men that he would call monsters than he had witchers.

“Well I’m certainly not going to do anything you tell me to,” Jaskier said, standing and striding to where Geralt was trying to hide himself in a corner, “and you are not a monster so don’t bother trying to convince me otherwise.”

“I am a monster. I nearly killed you with my djinn wish, I’ve let you get injured again and again on hunts, and then I blamed you for everything that was my fault.” Geralt’s eyes were wide, pleading with Jaskier, as he tried to make himself smaller.

Jaskier reached out to the witcher, placing a hand on his chest, near his medallion, “I’m not saying you haven’t made mistakes, Geralt, but they don’t make you a monster, they make you human.”

“Only a monster would be as selfish as I’ve let myself be.” The witcher growled out, trying to pull away from Jaskier’s hand but having nowhere to go.

That was a curious argument, Jaskier thought, it wasn’t like any of the other arguments Geralt had said to justify how fitting the term was in the past. “How do you mean?”

“I let you keep following me, knowing the risks.”

“How is that selfish?” Geralt had told the bard time and time again of the risks of travelling on The Path with the witcher, and Jaskier had promptly ignored the witcher’s warnings.

Geralt looked ashamed, “I didn’t want you to go, even though I knew it would be safest. I didn’t want to lose you, your friendship meant too much to me and I let that get in the way of protecting you.”

Jaskier was stunned into silence, he had no clue what to say to that revelation. It was the first time Geralt had ever implied they were friends. Jaskier had thought, assumed really, the witcher considered them friends, but he had never said the words, never given Jaskier any sort of confirmation to settle the doubt hiding in the back of his mind.

And here in some back-water inn with the witcher hiding himself in a corner, he just says he didn’t want to lose their friendship. And that he was _selfish_ for it.

Jaskier was baffled, he hadn’t thought this conversation would go anything like the way it currently was. He had been hoping for an apology, a look inside the witcher’s mind, at the struggles he was facing, but instead Jaskier was getting confessions he had never expected.

“Well,” Jaskier started hesitantly, not sure his words would be of any comfort to the witcher, “I didn’t want to go, which must have been rather selfish of me, as well, I suppose. But I think you can forgive me for it, and I can absolutely forgive you. I value our friendship very highly, Geralt, and I never felt safer or more protected than when by your side.”

“You shouldn’t,” Geralt let out weakly.

“Geralt, I think you should get back in bed. You’re weak and clearly hurting.” Jaskier took a step back, gesturing for Geralt to walk back to his bed.

Geralt swiftly moved back to the bed and sat upon the edge, looking back to Jaskier, “What right do I have to your kindness when I’ve caused… everything to fall apart.”

Jaskier’s already shattered heart ached with Geralt’s words.

Jaskier approaches Geralt slowly and puts a hand on the witcher’s shoulder, “You deserve every bit of kindness I have to offer.”

Geralt flinched from the kind hand, “I deserve to suffer.”

“You do not. And I will follow you around for the rest of my days until I can make you see that. Let me help, Geralt. Let me stay with you.” Jaskier stared at the witcher, his eyes begging even more than his words.

“You deserve better than to follow me, Jaskier.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was very hard to write. I intend to get the last two chapters up soon but life is very much getting in the way.  
> ...But I need to get this one done soon because I had a wonderful idea for a new fic. And if I start it I'll never finish this one.
> 
> Thank you guys again for all your kind comments and kudos! Your comments are sometimes the only thing that make me work on the next chapter so keep them coming!


	7. Cliffs I Climb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is shorter than I initially thought it would be but it's the perfect lead up to the final chapter!
> 
> Enjoy some soft boys figuring out their feelings for each other.

_You deserve better than to follow me_.

Honestly, the witcher’s self-deprecation knows no bounds, thought Jaskier.

“I think, what I deserve, should be determined by myself and no one else, thanks.” The bard says smartly, unwilling to listen to the witcher put himself down any further.

“Well, this has been an exhausting day, really. I think I’ll settle in for bed.” Jaskier starts shuffling around the room, putting out candles, finally settling under the covers of his bed.

“Good night, Geralt.”

“Good night, Jaskier.”

-

It’s an uneasy night of rest for the bard; he falls asleep quickly, but his dreams are disturbing. They make no sense and leave the bard with a feeling of dread.

A few hours later when the moon was full and high overhead, Jaskier woke, an apprehensive feeling in his gut. Looking towards Geralt’s bed, the bard could see that it was empty. He sat up quickly and looked around the room. The witcher’s saddle bags and belongings were still placed on the small table across the room but the witcher himself and his swords were missing.

Jaskier quickly dresses and leaves the inn, looking around for any clue to where the witcher might have run off to.

The stables were the most likely choice, Geralt had certainly wanted to see Roach. Jaskier hurries to the back of the inn where the stables were, feeling frustrated when there is no sign of the witcher near Roach’s stall. He gives the mare a pat on the nose and heads back outside, unsure of where to look now.

The village wasn’t a large one but Jaskier couldn’t think of anywhere the witcher would want to go. The bard wasn’t sure how long Geralt had stayed in the village before setting out after the wyvern nest, but the bard doubted that it was very long.

-

Geralt felt bad for leaving the inn, leaving Jaskier, but he had to get away. The witcher was having trouble figuring out what was going on in his own head. He didn’t understand why the bard would want to travel with Geralt again.

He didn’t understand why Jaskier was so adamant that he wasn’t a monster.

Geralt let out a long sigh, resting his head on his hands, elbows on his knees. He had wandered away from the village toward where he could hear waves cresting on the sea and sat upon a rock at the edge of a small cliff, overlooking the coast.

How poetic, the witcher thought with a fair bit of irony, that the two should be reunited at the coast.

Maybe Jaskier had been onto something, watching the waves was nice, the fresh salt air refreshing. It was peaceful in a way that the witcher rarely got to experience.

His life didn’t often lead him to situations like this, where he could sit down, no imminent threats or responsibilities. Everything pressing could wait until the light of day, but for now the witcher could sit and rest. He could reflect.

If Geralt hadn’t ignored his feelings on that mountain, hadn’t pretended he didn’t harbor feelings for the bard, where would they be now? Would they have gone to the coast? Been happy?

The moon was full in the sky overhead, bathing the cliff in a muted light. Nights like this had always been nights he most enjoyed spending with the bard. When the area around them was calm and there was nothing pressing, the bard would quietly play his lute, providing a soothing background noise Geralt could use to drown out the world surrounding him.

Geralt had _missed_ the bard, missed him like no one else. Ever since Rinde, he had felt himself _yearning_ after Yennefer, and thought it meant something. But now, thinking about how much it hurt not having Jaskier at his side, Geralt could finally see the truth to Yennefer’s claim that there was nothing real between them, had never been.

The witcher didn’t exactly understand his feelings, had been told time and time again they were nothing more than a hindrance and it would do him best to learn how to ignore them.

He thought, though, that this tightness in his chest when thinking of Jaskier, was love.

Geralt heard footfalls behind him, approaching slowly. He stood from the rock he had perched on and looked into the distance towards the noise. He doubted he would be confronted by a true threat, but in his weakened state it would be a poor choice to not remain cautious.

He watched as Jaskier approached him, the bard’s speed picking up as he finally saw the witcher.

“Geralt! I’ve been looking all over for you!”

-

Jaskier had been growing steadily more nervous the more he searched the surrounding village area and didn’t find Geralt. Finally, the bard stumbled across a well traversed path and followed it. The farther he walked, the more clearly he could hear water. This town was fairly near the coast, now that he thought about it, perhaps this was the path to the beach.

Eventually Jaskier reached the end of the path, and, thankfully, his witcher. “Geralt!” Jaskier exclaimed, relieved, “I’ve been looking all over for you!”

“I thought you would still be asleep,” Geralt responded quietly.

Jaskier looked at Geralt, hair bathed in moonlight, eyes soft, and couldn’t believe he had walked away from him on that mountain. The bard couldn’t think of anywhere he would rather be than gazing upon the witcher for the rest of his days.

The bard walked up to the witcher, a small smile playing on his face, still relieved to see him safe and unharmed, “What are you doing out here?”

Geralt looked somber, turning to stare over the cliff, “Trying to figure out what pleases me.”

Jaskier’s breath catches in his throat, hearing his own words repeated back to him in such a vulnerable manner, “And did you?”

Geralt remains silent.

Jaskier walks further forward until he is standing side by side with Geralt, leaning his shoulder into the larger man’s. “I did. Figure out what pleases me, that is,” the bard says softly, staring at the waves on the shore.

“Can I stay with you, Geralt? By your side.” Jaskier finally asks, looking at the witcher.

Geralt looks down at his feet, but otherwise shows no signs he heard the bard’s soft-spoken question.

“Geralt, nothing would please me more than spending the rest of my days with you, please believe me. But, if you don’t want my company, I won’t force it upon you,” Jaskier says before walking over to the rock near the edge of the cliff and sitting upon it.

“Join me?”

Geralt walks to the rock and sits next to Jaskier, the rock small enough that the two are pressed up against each other.

“I would… like that,” Geralt finally responds, “I did miss you travelling with me. And I am sorry for the things I said.”

Jaskier smiles at Geralt, meeting the witcher’s eyes, “So, what do you think of the coast?”

“I wish we had come here six months ago.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come see me on tumblr @ElectricRituals


	8. The Kindest Thing

The walk back to the inn from the cliffside was somber, neither the witcher nor the bard willing to break the comfortable silence. Jaskier couldn’t help but think about what the sunlight would bring, now that the two would be travelling together again. They would need to make sure and stock up Geralt’s potions and get everything packed and Jaskier really needed a new pair of boots.

Hopefully Geralt wouldn’t kick up too much of a fuss about them staying at least one more day, he was still weak, after all.

As the two neared the inn it occurred to Jaskier that Geralt had never told him what it was that pleased him. Or if he had even figured it out. The bard’s throat suddenly felt dry and tight. He wanted to bring it up again, to ask Geralt, but what if he didn’t like the answer?

Jaskier had asked Geralt to let him once again be his travel companion, told the witcher that he wanted nothing more. What if Geralt’s answer was… not along the same lines. Would Jaskier be able to listen to the witcher longing for his loss of Yennefer? Or really anything that didn’t involve Jaskier in his life.

Geralt had missed Jaskier, had said so himself, and he had apologized for the mountain, although he needn’t have as far as the bard was concerned.

But what did those things mean in the grand scheme of things? Geralt was a witcher, tied to a sorceress and a princess through destiny, and Jaskier was his _barker_. And friend. And the man that followed the witcher without questions because he was helplessly in love with him.

Jaskier wouldn’t leave Geralt, not again, but the idea that Geralt would never hold Jaskier in the same regard wasn’t pleasant by any means.

Jaskier’s musings stayed with him until they reached their room.

The two wordlessly got ready for bed and it wasn’t until the candles had been put out and the two had laid in their respective beds that Jaskier finally found the courage to ask the witcher.

“Geralt,” the bard started hesitantly, “you never said if you decided what pleases you or not, did you?”

Jaskier heard Geralt shift in his bed before letting out a soft huff.

“I won’t bother you about it if you don’t want, Geralt, but I did lay my feelings out there for you to hear and I thought I might ask at least once more. Truly, I don’t want to push you I just thought that maybe -”

“Jaskier,” Geralt cut Jaskier off roughly, “I will tell you, but I am tired, and I think it best if we wait until later in the day.”

“Okay… good night, Geralt.”

“Good night.”

-

Jaskier was tense, waiting for the bad news Geralt would inevitably lay at his feet. The two had been out shopping for supplies for their upcoming travels all day but had finally retired back to their room, Geralt wanting to start getting all his potion supplies prepared and organized before dinner.

Geralt hadn’t made mention of their short conversation from the night before and the possibilities were killing Jaskier.

“Are you about ready to head down for dinner, Geralt?” Jaskier finally asked, breaking the silence.

“Hmm… I think I’ll take it up here. I’ve still got a lot to do if we’re to leave tomorrow.”

“Oh. Well, I could run down and get us something.” The bard offered. Geralt met Jaskier’s eyes and nodded his assent to the idea.

-

Geralt wasn’t sure how to answer Jaskier’s question.

He didn’t know how to explain what he was feeling because he didn’t even really know what he was feeling. He didn’t quite understand the extent of his feelings for the bard, but he did want Jaskier to travel with him again. The witcher honestly couldn’t think of anything that would please him more.

Clearly the bard wanted to travel with him so it shouldn’t be a problem, admitting that is what he thought would please him. But it brought his feelings too close to the surface, and just because the bard wanted to travel with Geralt didn’t mean he wanted Geralt to feel… whatever it is he’s feeling toward the bard.

-

After the pair had eaten and Jaskier had about worked himself into a fit of nerves, the bard decided to do what he did best, sing and write and play his lute. Annoyingly.

He sort of felt like it was self-sabotage, doing one of the things that he knew annoyed Geralt the most so soon after their reconciliation, but the bard felt it would be better to get it over with. Perhaps Jaskier could annoy the witcher into admitting how much he missed Yennefer, or whatever other awful not Jaskier related thing that pleased the witcher.

Jaskier was halfway through a raucous shanty he had been working on when he felt Geralt’s eyes on him. When the bard looked over, he was shocked to see, not disdain or annoyance on the witcher’s face, but a small smile. Almost as if the witcher was enjoying himself.

Well, that couldn’t be right, “So sorry, Geralt. Is my filling-less pie disturbing your peace?” The bard asked.

The smile fell from Geralt’s lips, “You know I never meant any of that, right?” The witcher asked softly, unable to look at the bard any longer.

Of course, Jaskier had always suspected that Geralt enjoyed his singing, or at least his playing, to some degree, but the witcher had never said so. In fact, Geralt had made it a point to say the exact opposite. Loudly. And often.

“Yes, Geralt. I know that now. Thank you for telling me, though.” Jaskier finally replied, feeling guilty he was the reason the small smile was no longer on Geralt’s face. Particularly when it seemed he had been the reason for the smile in the first place.

Geralt nodded at Jaskier, still not looking at the bard. The two continued on quietly, Jaskier strumming his lute and Geralt preparing his potion ingredients, before finally the two retired to bed wordlessly.

-

Jaskier woke earlier than usual, even earlier than Geralt, so the bard made his was downstairs, grabbing a bit of breakfast and headed to the cobbler to see if his new boots were ready.

Walking back to the inn, carrying his new boots, Jaskier felt excited, ready to get back on the road. He also felt dread, though. Geralt hadn’t brought up their conversation yesterday despite his promise to do so and Jaskier couldn’t think of a good reason why he wouldn’t. The witcher wasn’t known for his words, no, but he didn’t often say he would do something and then just… not do it.

When Jaskier walked into their shared room at the inn, Geralt was up and packing. “Morning, Geralt! Are we about ready to leave?”

“Hmmm.”

“Ahh, yes, good. Well, I’ve my new boots so I’ll get them on and be ready. I’ve eaten already, did you? I can grab something from downstairs if you need.” Jaskier babbled, sitting on the edge of his bed to lace up his new boots.

“I ate.”

“Alright then. Sounds like we’re ready to depart.” Jaskier said, smiling at Geralt.

Geralt gave a small nod and headed downstairs, Jaskier on his heels.

In the stables Geralt got Roach’s tack ready and saddled her up while Jaskier fed roach carrots and rambled on about which way the would be going and the various news he had heard while the two had been separated, it seemed Nilfgaard was marching north.

“Stop spoiling my horse,” Geralt finally grunted before leading Roach from the stable.

“I was doing no such thing! It’s not spoiling if she deserves those carrots and I can assure you she does!” Jaskier protested dramatically, following the witcher.

As the two approached the edge of the village, Geralt pulled Roach to a stop, turning to look at Jaskier.

“Before we leave, I need to tell you something. I… do think I know what pleases me. Where I can find… happiness.” Geralt said, staring at Jaskier.

Jaskier was taken aback, he truly had begun to think that the witcher would never broach the topic again. The bard made an encouraging noise, moving to stand in front of the witcher, nodding to get the witcher to continue.

“I found my happiness somewhere unexpected.” Geralt finally said, turning to look at the road leading them out of town.

Jaskier looked at the witcher, unsure of where he was going with his statement. “Where?” he asked finally, when it seemed the witcher wouldn’t elaborate.

Geralt froze before finally whispering, “With you,” and turning to face the bard.

Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat as he met the witcher’s eye. Smiling, Jaskier grabbed Geralt by the neck, pulling the man in for a kiss.

This would be his best song yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was it! I've got some new ideas rattling around in my head but I need to take a couple of days to get caught up on all of my class assignments I've been ignoring. Thank you all for reading and commenting and for the kudos, you've all been so wonderful <3 <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on tumblr (electricrituals) and scream about Joey Batey with me


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